<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Twist of Plait by Politzania</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576632">A Twist of Plait</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania'>Politzania</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Avengers Tower, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Clint POV, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, not-quite-pining!Clint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:28:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Clint expected from what was supposed to be a lazy afternoon was to  be doing the hair of a recovering (and pretty darned attractive) brainwashed ex-assassin that wasn't Natasha. </p><p>WinterHawk Bingo: Braids<br/>Bucky Barnes Bingo:  Bucky/Clint</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Winterhawk Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Twist of Plait</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A Twist of Plait by PoliZ/Politzania<br/>Rating: General<br/>WinterHawk Bingo Square Filled:   O2 - Braids<br/>Bucky Barnes Bingo Square Filled: C5 - Bucky/Clint<br/>Warnings: pre-slash, mostly fluff<br/>Summary:  The last thing Clint expected from what was supposed to be a lazy afternoon was to become a hair stylist for another recovering (and attractive) brainwashed ex-assassin.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clint had just gotten settled in on his favorite sofa in the common room and was about to ask JARVIS to queue up the latest season of <i>Dog Cops</i> when  Barnes stalked into the room.  Cap and Sam had tracked him down a couple of months ago, but he barely left their floor, much less by himself. </p><p>Clint had a passing knowledge of who Sergeant Bucky Barnes of the Howling Commandos had been, and had heard rumors about the Winter Soldier during his time at SHIELD; to learn they were one and the same person was mind-blowing.  Clint had been on a deep cover mission when the ‘SHIELD is really Hydra’ shitstorm blew up (and barely escaped with his own hide intact, but that was a story for another day). In the aftermath, Natasha had gotten him up to speed pretty quickly on the history of the notorious assassin. She also told him that Fury wasn’t really dead, and neither was Coulson --- it had been one hell of a debrief.</p><p>Barnes stopped right in front of the television and turned the full force of his resting murder face on Clint.  “Natasha said that you braid her hair sometimes.”  </p><p>“Uh, yeah?”  Clint hedged, not sure if this was a jealousy thing or not.  Natasha had hinted to some sort of relationship between her and the Winter Soldier back in the Red Room, but Clint hadn’t asked for details.  He and Natasha had a bit of a history of their own, sure, but Clint was more attracted to guys to start with.  Particularly guys like Barnes: tall, dark and on the dangerous side. </p><p>“Show me how.”  It was more of a command than a request; the guy was clearly still struggling with social niceties.  Clint supposed he could cut Barnes some slack, what with the whole being brainwashed and flash-frozen thing.  And it’s not like he himself had a lot of room to talk, being raised in a circus and all. </p><p>“Sorry, Nat’s gone out shopping with Pepper. Probably won’t be back for hours.”  </p><p>“I know. I meant ... on me.”   That moment of hesitation piqued Clint’s attention, even as all his instincts were screaming that this could be a Very Bad Idea.  His own hesitation must have shown on his face, as Barnes continued, with an almost bashful tone, “I washed my hair this morning.” </p><p>“That’s good, but ...” Clint’s brain churned; he couldn’t exactly say ‘how can I be sure you’re not gonna knife me all of a sudden? After all, there’s times you won’t even let your best bud touch you, and I’m pretty much a stranger.’  He went with a logistical argument instead:  “How could you tell what I’d be doing?”   </p><p>Barnes frowned  -- well, frowned even more than usual -- then glanced around at the ceiling of the room.  “JARVIS, activate all room cameras and start recording.”  He turned to Clint.  “Multiple angles for later review.” </p><p>“Agent Barton, do you consent to the recording?”  the AI asked. </p><p>“Yeah, sure.”  At the very least, it would be evidence if something went horribly wrong.  “Um - let me go get the stuff I need.”     </p><p>“I came prepared.”   Barnes dug in a pocket and pulled out a black and silver cylinder. Clint tensed up before he realized what it really was. </p><p>“Where the hell did you get a switchblade comb from?” </p><p>“Stark gave it t’ me. Probably thought he was being clever.”  Barnes shrugged. “Joke’s on him -- it’s actually kinda useful.”  His lips quirked up slightly and there was a faint sparkle in his eye. Clint wasn’t sure if it was that flicker of a sense of humor, or the hint of a Brooklyn accent that made his stomach do a quick flip-flop. </p><p>Barnes passed the comb over — handle first, as if it were a real knife — then dug out a couple of colorful elastics. “Got these from Natasha.”  So this wasn’t a sudden impulse; Barnes had apparently planned this out. “So where do you want me?” </p><p>That was a loaded question for more than one reason, but Clint opted for answering it as literally as possible.  “How about right here,” he replied, getting up off the couch and holding out his hand for the elastics,  “and I’ll stand behind you.”   Barnes sat, keeping his eyes forward as if to force himself not to watch as Clint crossed behind him.   </p><p>When the comb touched his head, Barnes inhaled sharply, going rigid.  Clint pulled his hand back, cursing his thoughtlessness. He’d seen photos of the chair those Hydra bastards had used to wipe Barnes’ memory; the way the pincers wrapped around his head. The last thing  Clint wanted to do was to trigger the guy  into any kind of attack, panic or otherwise.</p><p> “Jarv,  can you throw up a holoscreen with my POV?” Clint called out, keeping his voice light.  Maybe if Barnes could see exactly what Clint was doing, he wouldn’t freak out so badly.  Explaining each step and asking permission wouldn’t hurt, either.   </p><p> A glowing rectangle of light suddenly appeared in front of them, displaying the video feed from over Clint’s shoulder.   “Thanks.  So, Barnes, the first thing I want to do is comb your hair back from your face.  Is that okay?”   </p><p>“Yeah.” His voice was tight, but he unclenched his fists, so Clint began his task.  Barnes’ hair was thick and wavy — unlike Natasha’s fine, sleek locks — and didn’t exactly want to behave.  But Clint managed to get it all combed into place, sneaking a couple of glances at his companion’s handsome profile along the way. </p><p>“I’m going to start the braid about two inches back from your hairline with three strands,” Clint announced, “then weave more pieces in along the way.  Does that sound good?”  He waited for Barnes’ nod. “I need to keep a bit of tension on the braid, but I’ll try not to yank too hard.  Let me know if it bothers you.”  </p><p>“Okay.”  The response was a little more relaxed, and as Clint carefully worked his way down Barnes’ scalp; he could feel the tension further draining away under his hands. Maybe the guy was just looking for a little human contact; Clint himself certainly understood that feeling. </p><p>“Lean forward a little, please.”  Barnes did as Clint asked, the muscles of his broad shoulders flexing as he moved. Clint wrapped the elastic around the little two-inch tail to finish it off.  “All done.” </p><p>Clint stepped back,  expecting Barnes to get back up and leave, his mission accomplished.   But instead he simply lifted his flesh hand, and with a slight tremor, smoothed it over his now-tamed hair, tracing careful fingers over the braid.   “You did a really good job. Thank you.” </p><p>“You’re welcome.  I’ve had plenty of practice, and not just on Nat.” </p><p>“You had sisters, too?”  The wistful note in his voice plucked at Clint’s heartstrings.  The poor guy really had lost nearly everything to Hydra; but he hadn’t given up.  Clint admired that kind of determination. </p><p>“Not exactly, though the trapeze artists and trick riders -- I used to help them with their hair -- kinda treated me like a little brother.” </p><p>“Huh?” </p><p>Clint grinned a little as he explained a bit of his own history.  “I was one of those kids who ran away and joined the circus.  Did a little bit of everything before I could talk the boss into my own act.  It’s where I got my nickname of Hawkeye.” </p><p>“Wondered about that.”  Barnes finally stood and turned around; those storm blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones no longer hidden behind a curtain of hair nearly took Clint’s breath away.  “So, are you as good as they say, Barton?”   </p><p>Clint never could back down from a challenge. Especially if it gave him a chance to know his new friend a little better.   “Let’s head down to the range and find out.  And call me Clint.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>